


Original Sin

by NeverNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Drama, F/M, Out of Character, Prostitution, Religion, Scandal, Sex, Sexual Violence, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverNik/pseuds/NeverNik
Summary: Recently-ordained priest Father Draco Malfoy has joined the congregation of St Dumbledore in the busy town of Gryffindor Ridge, under the mentorship of Father Severus Snape.On Fr Malfoy's first Saturday afternoon, Fr Snape abruptly orders him to take confession and disappears. Confused, Fr Malfoy wonders why, until a mysterious parishioner enters the confessional to confess her sins.He discovers that her sins are not your run-of-the-mill wrongdoings, and that the young woman is not your everyday parishioner...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU, non-magic, OOC characters – at least to start with, smut.  
> The story uses the Catholic Church as the basis for its setting and plot but is not intended to insult or make a political statement. Having said that, it’s probably not recommended that you read this story if you are a practicing Catholic.  
> Trigger: there is a rape scene; unfortunately, it was essential to the plot. I've indicated where the scene stops and starts. If this isn't your scene, please don't waste your time reading and stating the obvious in the comments. Your time is much more precious than that :)

Father Draco Malfoy’s temperamental Jeep rattled to a stop in the carpark of St Dumbledore’s, Gryffindor Ridge’s church. This was Draco’s first posting since he became fully ordained as a priest. He was to assist Father Severus Snape with his parish duties.

When he asked Bishop Shacklebolt what Father Snape was like, the kindly man tapped his nose and said ‘I think it’s best that you form your impressions yourself, my son.’

Even wrangling information out of his gossipy secretary Father du Fresne was impossible. He was under strict orders not to talk about Father Snape, du Fresne said miserably. Otherwise he would _jump_ at the chance to help their newest brother in Christ.

Therefore Draco was as impressionless as a wax tablet.

He slammed the Jeep’s door shut (otherwise it opened all by itself), checking that he hadn’t caught his long black cassock in it first. His Jeep liked to eat cassocks. He propped his sunglasses up on his blonde head, smiled and nodded pleasantly to a couple of open-mouthed middle-aged ladies who were descending the church’s steps – and headed inside.

One of the ladies said in hushed tones: ‘Did you see that young priest?’

The second lady rolled her eyes and said ‘Of course I did, Minerva, I’m right next to you. You could hardly miss him! He looks like he should be on the cover of those weekly magazines my Ginny wastes her money on, topless with his skin gleaming from some sort of oil.’

Minerva stared at her companion, aghast. ‘I think you need to go back to confession, Molly.’

Molly grinned. ‘If he’s hearing them, I’ll confess all day long!’

Minerva puffed in and out like a blowfish.

Resigned, Molly took her arm. ‘Come on. Let’s get a shandy into you before pass out.’

* * *

Oblivious to the fact that his body was undergoing an oil-based speculation, Malfoy crossed the church’s Notice Board-festooned vestibule and headed inside the long, large nave, where the congregation sat. While he dipped two fingers into the Holy Water font at the entrance and made the Sign of the Cross, his striking grey eyes roamed his new house of worship.

It was a nice size, with large stained-glass windows lining each side of the nave.

And yet...

...Goosebumps crawled over Draco’s arms.

Up ahead, a tall figure clothed in a black cassock stood at the altar, his black-haired head bent to inspect its cloth covering.

Banishing his disquiet, Draco walked down the nave and headed up the steps to the altar. ‘Father Snape?’ he asked pleasantly.

At length, the figure turned around and stared at Draco with a raised beetle-like eyebrow.

Draco realised he still had his sunglasses on his head. He swiftly removed them. ‘I’m Father Draco Malfoy.’ He held out his hand. ‘Your assistant priest.’

Snape transferred his stare to Draco’s hand, but did not move.

‘I was told you were expecting me?’ Draco asked, feeling like a fool, standing a couple of steps below Snape with his arm sticking out. He had a feeling it was purposeful.

‘I have been informed,’ Snape drawled in a baritone voice that carried easily around the church. He inspected Draco’s outstretched hand as if it were a particularly badly decomposing animal.

Draco kept his sigh to himself and lowered it.

Father Snape sailed off towards the Sacristy. ‘The Bishop has kindly decided to lighten my load,’ he said tonelessly. ‘Not that it was requested, you understand. This… boon’ – spat between clenched teeth – ‘is a blessing, indeed.’

Draco followed him in to the roomy office. ‘I’m eager to learn from your experience in the Church, and with this parish,’ he said neutrally. ‘Given time, I hope you’ll see the advantages of an extra pair of hands around the place.’

Snape glared at Draco. ‘We shall see,’ he drawled. Then, without a word, he left the Sacristy through its external door and swanned off down the path Draco assumed led to the Rectory.

Draco let out a breath and followed him.

* * *

‘I tell you, love, he’s no ordinary-looking priest,’ Molly promised, dandling grandson James on her knee and ignoring Minerva’s censorious glare.

The Fighting Cockerel was a pub located just across the road from St Dumbledore’s. Co-owner Ginny Potter delivered shandies to their table. ‘So, he’s not a hundred and three years old with a beer gut, balding hair, stained false teeth and a red nose from imbibing too much Communion wine?’ she chortled.

Minerva transferred her glare to Ginny.

‘Lord, no!’ said Molly.

‘Shame,’ Ginny sighed. ‘That would be an improvement on Father Snape.’

‘You mind your tongue, young lady!’

Ginny ignored her mother's grumpy old neighbour. ‘So, what’s the newbie got that’s so special? A wooden leg?’

‘I doubt it,’ Molly smirked. ‘Do you remember that series of films about witches and wizards that Father Snape ordered us not to watch, lest our dirty souls become even more corrupted?’

‘As well he should!’ Minerva spat.

Molly sighed and plonked her grandson onto Minerva’s bony lap. The old biddy squawked in panic, which set James off.

‘Yes, Ma.’

‘Remember the blonde teenage boy in it you fancied…?’

‘Yeah…’ Then Ginny gasped. ‘Oh! Don’t tell me he’s left acting to become a priest?’

‘No!’ Molly cried, exasperated. ‘This priest looks similar to that boy, if you add another ten or so years on.’

Ginny laughed. ‘Oh Mum, you should do stand-up comedy!’ She picked James up and kissed his forehead, nestled him on her hip and headed back behind to the bar to tell her husband Harry the joke.

* * *

It was evening, and Draco was in the mood for some company that wasn’t belligerent, sly or negative. He’d brought in his meagre belongings from the Jeep under Snape’s watchful but unhelpful eye, spent some time unpacking and then in silent contemplation in his clean, plain bedroom.

He went downstairs and into the kitchen, where he found Snape polishing off the remains of a mince pie with mashed potato while he glared at the newspaper. When Draco asked if there was any left, Snape simply shrugged and said the housekeeper was not around to be asked.

Therefore, he was also hungry.

Salvation appeared in the form of a pub. Fairly certain he wouldn’t find any actual battling roosters inside, otherwise he’d have to find a less controversial pub for a man of his standing, he headed inside.

It was early in the week, and the pub wasn’t full, just a smattering of what looked to be entrenched regulars. Draco headed to the bar, smiling and nodding at the people who stopped and stared as he went past.

He was used to this. Priests tend to stick out in their all-black uniform of trousers and shirt, not to mention the long cassock and the white clerical collar around their neck. He was a public figure, and was available for advice, assistance or succour twenty-four hours a day. 

Also (without committing too big a sin of pride) Draco knew he was a good-looking man. He was good-looking before he became a priest – capitalised on it, from time to time – and his blonde hair, startling grey eyes and toned figure hadn’t changed much since those days. He’d developed some stock phrases to gently discourage the women – and men – who wanted to see what he kept underneath his cassock.

He nodded pleasantly at a frazzled red-haired lass who wandered in from the back, a fretting baby clinging to her t-shirt like grim death. Her mouth fell open; then she rushed up to the bar.

‘Oh my Lord, my mother was right!’ she gasped over the baby’s squawks. ‘I’m Ginny Potter. I own the pub with my husband Harry, who’s… somewhere…’ she looked around vaguely. ‘And this little noisemaker is James. I’m so sorry, he’s being a bit clingy.’

Draco smiled. ‘Father Draco Malfoy,’ he said. ‘May I hold young James for a bit? I know I don’t look it, but I’ve had some experience with little ones.’

‘Go for it,’ Ginny said, unhooking James’s fingers from her t-shirt and handing him over the bar with some relief. ‘I’m sure my eardrum's about to burst!’

Draco held James in his arms, gently jogging him up and down. James stared at the man in black in awe before deciding he was better off with Mum. He worked up his lungs for a good shriek, but was distracted when Draco gave him his battered cell phone in a rubber case. James solemnly accepted this gift and started gnawing on a corner.

‘My ears are ringing from the silence!’ said a man with messy black hair and green eyes, coming in from the outdoor area with a tray of empties. He smiled at Draco. ‘Harry Potter,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Half of the creator of the wee little noise monster you’re holding. Are you available for babysitting?’

Draco laughed. ‘Father Draco Malfoy,’ he said. ‘I just arrived at St Dumbledore’s.’

Harry’s eyes lit up. ‘Is Father Snape retiring?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Not that I know of,’ Draco said carefully.

‘Ah, well, never mind. In addition to a baby, is there anything we can get you?’

‘Whatever pale ale you’ve got on tap, and can I take a look at the menu? The Rectory, uh, ran out of dinner.’

Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘The greedy guts,’ she grizzled, then looked ashamed. ‘Sorry, Father. Here you go.’ She placed a laminated menu in front of him and organised his beer.

Draco looked at James, who was dribbling copiously and pushing one button on his phone over and over. ‘What do you recommend, my child?’

James gripped the menu and started nibbling it. Draco rescued his rather drenched phone.

Ginny laughed when she placed Draco’s beer in front of him and put some napkins within reach for his poor phone. ‘Has James given you any recommendations?’ she asked.

‘He says the fish and chips are not to be missed.’

‘Good boy!’ Ginny blew her son a kiss.

‘What do I owe you?’

‘Nothing, Father. James was driving customers away with his racket – the babysitter called in sick, you see, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. So I insist.’

‘I’m not here for charity, Ginny,’ Draco said gently.

‘Well, you can pay for your food but _not_ the beer and that’s my final offer.’ Ginny’s eyes and hair sparked.

‘Well… all right, then.’

* * *

As he drank his beer and ate his dinner – with James sitting on a high chair next to him, squelching chips in his fingers - Draco nodded at the patrons who passed by.  

As he finished, he half-noticed a young woman pass by, holding a book and looking down at her feet. She was plainly dressed in a cotton skirt and t-shirt with a summer cardigan over the top. Her brown curly hair was scraped into a ponytail which frizzed everywhere, and her face was clean of make-up. She was nearly out of the door when Ginny, coming to collect Draco’s plate, said cheerily ‘Bye, Hermione!’

The woman froze; then quickly turned around and did some sort of odd wave from her elbow. Smiling briefly, she quickly left.

‘Oh, Mr Potter, look at you!’ Ginny said exasperatedly with her hands on her hips.

‘What have I done now?’ Harry complained from behind the bar, where he was discussing the rugby with a local farmer.

‘Not you, my other Mr Potter!’ Scooping up Draco’s plate and glass, she said to James ‘I think we’ll take you and your high chair outside and hose the both of you off!’

Draco looked at the baby, who was gurgling with glee while he rubbed his chippy hands in his wayward black hair. ‘Oops,’ he smiled.

‘Oh, believe me, the peace and quiet has been worth it!’ Ginny laughed. ‘Come back anytime, Father. You’ll always be welcome.’

Draco stood up. ‘I’m sure I’ll be back often.’ Waving to Harry, he left the pub.

Ginny looked at the door. ‘Wow,’ she said dreamily.

James wasn’t happy to have lost his new friend, and started up again.

‘I know how you feel,’ said Ginny consolingly.

* * *

The next morning at the Rectory, over breakfast (bread and cereal being in plentiful supply, thankfully), Snape fished out a stained letter that looked like it had been crumpled up and thrown, then retrieved, from the rubbish bin. ‘His Grace, the Bishop Shacklebolt, writes that you are to manage youth parochial duties,’ he scowled.

Draco, looking for the milk and discovering the fridge was bare, said ‘Okay. What does that involve?’

‘There is a school attached to this Church, called St Hufflepuff's. It's co-educational students range from five to eighteen years old. You are to perform school chaplain duties as required. You will also be expected to resurrect the youth programme at the church.’ Snape slurped his copiously milky cornflakes.

Resurrect? Why did it lapse?

‘And First Communion classes? Do you want me to manage those, too?’

Snape shrugged. ‘If you wish. Hardly any bother, these days.’

With this, he took his cup of tea and retired to his room. But just before he left the kitchen, he said ‘You’ve an appointment with the Headmistress of St Hufflepuff’s. At eight-thirty a.m.’

Draco checked his watch. It was eight-fifteen.

* * *

‘I’m terribly sorry for being late, Mrs Sprout,’ Draco apologised again.

The cheerful Headmistress Sprout giggled. ‘Oh, nonsense! Twenty minutes is neither here nor there. Now. Let me organise some tea, and I’ll show you how the chaplaincy fits into our school. Then we’ll pop in to some classes so you can see for yourself how our school’s values and virtues are implemented.’

She signalled to her secretary - still staring bug-eyed at the gorgeous chaplain - for some tea, and they got down to business.

* * *

Draco spent an enjoyable day at the school, meeting teachers, observing classes, and answering the sorts of questions schoolchildren are never afraid to ask.

Draco was balancing precariously on a small chair while he sat with a small group of six-year-olds who were doing some colouring in. A crayon was thrust into his hand, so he joined in.

‘You’re nicer than Father Snape,’ lisped a little girl with a mop of ginger curls.

‘Is that because my hair’s a different colour?’ Draco smiled.

The girl shook her head solemnly. ‘He’s… scary.’

‘I guess Father Snape can look a bit scary,’ Draco said carefully. ‘But he’s a priest, and is here to help you, just like me.’

The little girl looked doubtfully at him, then at her neighbour, who shrugged.

* * *

Then Mrs Sprout took him to see the students in their final year.

‘People!’ she said over the excited babble that started up when Draco entered their homeroom. Getting no reaction, she clapped her hands. ‘PEOPLE!’

They settled, the girls looking at Draco demurely under their eyelashes; the boys not caring much.

‘This is Father Malfoy. He’s to be our new school chaplain, and’ –

She was drowned out by the girls’ excited exclamations.

‘GIRLS!’ she thundered. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into them,’ she muttered to Draco. ‘Behave yourselves, please! Father Malfoy, would you like to say a few words?’

Draco smiled and stepped forward.

* * *

He ended his short speech with ‘If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. If you want to speak in confidence, I'm happy to arrange that.’

He received some questions about availability and other administrative issues. Then a girl with short black hair and a couple of holes in her face were piercings normally lived, smiled coyly and asked ‘Have you been a school chaplain before?’

‘No, this is my first posting since I was ordained.’

The girl grinned wickedly. ‘First-timer, eh?’

Draco grinned back, albeit a watered-down version. ‘I hope you’ll be lenient as I learn.’

The class laughed, and Mrs Sprout frowned.

A girl with a messy ponytail asked ‘Are you a virgin?’

‘Penelope!’ gasped Mrs Sprout in shock over the shocked titters of the class.

‘It’s okay, Mrs Sprout,’ Draco said. ‘I did say ‘any questions.’ Penelope, is it?’

The girl nodded boldly.

‘I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine after. Sound fair?’

She nodded, her ears burning.

‘I’m not.’

The class gasped and burst into chatter. Mrs Sprout had to make some ludicrous threats to get them to settle.

‘I was an ordinary person before I became a priest,’ he continued. ‘Yes, it is against the Church’s teachings to have sex before marriage, but it’s not something I can go back and fix, right?’

They laughed

‘So, Penelope. Why did you want to know whether or not I was a virgin?’ he asked.

‘Because…  I find it hard to relate to priests who haven’t the slightest idea about what living in the real world’s actually like,’ she said defensively. ‘It’s bad enough you think you’re qualified to give us counselling on things like marriage when you’ve never been married and never will be, and’ –

‘Penelope Stillwater, I’m ashamed for the both of us!’ Mrs Sprout cried. ‘Father Malfoy, I’m so sorry’ –

‘It’s perfectly fine, Mrs Sprout.’

‘You are much too kind, Father. Well, we still have some people to meet,’ she said firmly. ‘Thank you, everyone, that will be all.’

Following Draco out of the classroom, she turned at the door and zeroed in on Penelope with laser-like eyes. ‘Detention, young lady!’ she hissed.

* * *

Malfoy had now been installed at St Dumbledore’s for nearly a week, and Father Snape was beginning to possibly think about the likelihood of thawing out to his junior colleague, somewhat. He’d proved useful, taking on duties that Snape found tedious, and didn’t insist on making wide, sweeping changes. He watched, asked questions, and was respectful.

The Church held confession on Saturday afternoons. It bored Snape to tears, because hardly anyone confessed these days, but you had to hang around, in case of an emergency.

Except for _her._ His lip curled. _Her_ confessions had been unbearably tedious as of late. _She_ may require more of his 'counselling,' soon.

Peering from behind the Sacristy door, Snape was unpleasantly surprised to find that his church pews held more penitents than normal. Nearly double, in fact. Word about the new priest must have spread.

He started removing the purple stole he wore to hear confession. ‘Malfoy, you can take confession this afternoon.’

‘Thank you, Father.’

Inwardly, Draco was surprised, but knew better than to ask why. He put the vestments on and headed into the church to sit in the confessional.

* * *

Draco slid the grille between his and the penitent’s confessional booth open. He could just make out the features of a woman whose face was framed with a pile of dark curly hair. A faint smell of delicate orchids wafted through to his partition. ‘Welcome, child,’ he murmured.

A loud bump and a stifled curse came from the other booth.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concerned.

‘Y-you’re not Father Snape...’

‘Ah, no. I’m Father Malfoy. Would you prefer to confess to Father Snape?’

‘No!’ she said quickly. ‘I mean, it’s fine. I was just… surprised.’

‘All right, then… when you’re ready.’

She made the Sign of the Cross. ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,’ she whispered. ‘It’s been seven days since my last confession.’

Draco waited.

There was some fidgeting from the other side of the confessional, but other than that, nothing but silence… which was starting to become uncomfortable.

Just as he was about to prompt her, she whispered ‘I’ve committed the sin of fornication.’

Oh. A serious sin.

‘Do you know that fornication is a grave sin?’ he asked gently.

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Did you commit this sin of your own free will?’

Silence. Then he heard an exhalation of breath. ‘Yes, Father.’

Draco frowned. ‘Are you certain?’

She cleared her throat. ‘Yes, Father.’

‘How often did you commit this sin?’

‘Eighteen times, Father.’

What? He banged his elbow against the wall. Now it was his turn to stifle a curse.

‘Are you all right, Father?’

‘Uh, yes, thank you,’ he replied vaguely. ‘Do you mean eighteen times throughout your life?’

‘No, eighteen times since last Saturday.’

Oh…kay.

She read his silence correctly. ‘I’m a sex worker, Father,’ she said flatly.

Right … with eighteen men. Or so.

So much for an ordinary confession of minor sins to start him off. Thanks, Snape.

* * *

‘Um…’ the woman whispered nervously, ‘shall I do what Father Snape requires when he takes my confession?’

‘What’s that?’

‘He requires me to be, um, specific. He believes that full sexual intercourse is more sinful than fellatio, for example, and he requires the details in order to determine my penance.’

To the woman, it looked like Father Malfoy had bowed his head and brought his hands together in prayer. In reality, he’d propped his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. He was lost. It felt wrong, cruel even, to make this woman recount the times she had sex with multiple men. On the other hand, the penance must be suitable for the sin. How would he know, otherwise?

His very first confession…

He sat up, leaned his head against the back wall and closed his eyes. ‘Please proceed.’

‘I… performed fellatio, mostly,’ she whispered.

‘I see.’ What else could he say?

‘I - I stroke their cocks quickly and lick every inch until they glide up and down in my fist. I flick my tongue over the top of their cocks, then I pull them into my mouth and fellate them, sucking hard so my cheeks hollow out. I stroke the remainder of their cocks until I take their entire erection into my mouth and throat. They usually grab my head and hold it so they can fuck it like it’s my, um, vagina …’

Jesus, help me, he prayed.

But she wasn’t done. ‘Often I gag. They push in too far, demanding their moneys’ worth. It excites them. They pull my hair and say things like ‘Take my huge cock, you fucking whore,’ ‘Swallow my load, bitch,’ et cetera. I pretend to be aroused and moan for them. Oh. I guess that’s another sin, Father - lying.

‘They ejaculate in my mouth, usually. I have to swallow, then open my mouth and show them that their slut’s been a good girl and they’ve gotten value for their money. Others come on my face. Some spray their come on my’ –

‘Stop.’

Draco had heard enough, and he’d had enough. He was seriously disturbed. His head was reeling, and to top it all off he was shamefully hard.

‘D-don’t you want to hear it all?’ she whispered.

He breathed in, then out, to calm himself. ‘I’ve heard enough to decide your penance,’ he said carefully. ‘Five Hail Marys.’

‘Um… I’m sorry?’ she sounded confused, then dumbfounded. ‘Father Snape gives me so much penance I have to pray for a couple of hours afterward. That’s why I come so early.’

Draco closed his eyes. ‘I think you’ve been punished enough.’

‘I… I ... thank you, Father.’ Her voice cracked.

‘I absolve you of your sins,’ Draco said, and made the Sign of the Cross to the grille. ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.’

‘Amen, Father. Thank you.’

‘Go in peace.’

He heard the door on her side of the confessional slide open, then close.

He slumped down on his bench, clutching his hair in his fists.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco finished hearing confession just before dinnertime. He trudged into the Rectory, intending to go straight to his room, but Snape was waiting for him in the hallway, a rare and ugly smile flickering on his thin lips.

‘How was confession?’ Snape asked.

Draco yawned. ‘Fine. I hadn’t appreciated how tiring active listening can be, though.’

Snape grunted.

Draco took a step towards the stairs.

‘And what of your first penitent?’ Snape drawled.

Draco learned in the seminary that priests are supposed to forget about the sins they hear once they give absolution and allocate penance. If Snape thought he was going to get some sort of second-hand pornographic recounting of the woman’s sins, he’d better think again.

So he lied.

‘I honestly don’t remember, Father. Everything just seemed to run together.’

Snape’s nostrils flared.

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll skip dinner this evening. I’m rather tired.’

Snape shrugged, his eyes speculative, and both went their separate ways.

* * *

 

In his room, Draco got to his knees and prayed to the crucifix on the wall. He searched his soul and his conscience. He tried to ask forgiveness for lying to Snape, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

How could Snape have treated that woman so cruelly?

He fought it as long as he could, but in the end, he stood up, removed his cassock, headed to his narrow bed and slumped onto it, staring at the yellowing, water-stained ceiling. He unbuttoned his black shirt and removed his clerical collar, dropping it onto the bedspread next to him. The late afternoon summer breeze played over his skin.

He looked up again.

‘Forgive me, Lord,’ he whispered.

His hand shook as he undid his belt and opened his trousers. His erection (which he’d managed to keep to no more than semi-hard for the rest of confession) sprang up energetically, angry at being suppressed for so long. He clenched his teeth in agonised ecstasy as he wrapped his hand around it.

It had been a long time.

Before he entered the seminary, he jerked off more or less every day, unless he had a girlfriend. His first few weeks at the seminary were particularly torturous, until he discovered how to send his self-desire to the back of his mind.

Now look at him.

The need to gratify his body turned into an urgent pulse that made his body throb. He stroked himself once – his flesh was so sensitive that he almost howled out loud. Pre-come spilled from the glans. Then he took long, slow strokes from the base of his significantly-sized cock to its head, watching himself through half-closed eyes.

He didn’t know what the penitent looked like; barely remembered her scent. It didn’t matter.

Her voice was soft, as was appropriate for the confessional; and it was smoky and low.

The sound of sex.

As for what she said…

In his mind, he saw a nude woman with blurred features on her knees with him standing naked before her. She stroked his cock just as he was doing now – slowly to start, then building up in pace. Intensity. Then - God, forgive me, he prayed – her mouth engulfed his aching flesh. Hot, wet and lush. Her tongue brushed against the sensitive underside of his cock and it felt unbelievable.

Sinfully good.

He should know.

His knuckles were nearly white. His hand was no match for a woman’s mouth. Her cunt.

He closed his eyes and watched her working her mouth greedily down his shaft, coating his flesh with her saliva.

She looked up at him. He was certain her eyes were a warm brown, large for her face. When their stares connected, her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned in desire. His cock nudged the back of her throat, and the vibrations from her vocal cords shot through his shaft and reverberated through his body.

Draco clenched his teeth against his desperate need to moan out loud. Being discovered by a gloating, judgemental Snape was the last thing he wanted.

He felt his orgasm approach, his shaft starting to spasm in his hand. He cupped his balls with his other hand; they were heavy; so damn sensitive.

He recalled where her clients orgasmed – stuffed deep in her mouth or marking her body like an alley cat. Guiltily, he pictured the woman with curved, full breasts, lying on the floor in front of him, writhing, her breasts cupped in her hands. Offering them to him.

He closed his eyes.

‘Come on my body, Draco,’ she begged in her sexy voice, flicking her nipples with her fingertips. ‘I want to watch you come’ –

His body bowed off the bed as he orgasmed into his hand, spurt after spurt of come that, in his mind’s eye, landed in fat, gooey splatters on her creamy flesh. Eyes sparkling, she drew her finger through his jism and lifted it to her mouth. Her tongue darted out and she licked it clean.

Slowly, she sat up. ‘You made a mess,’ she remarked.

He smirked at the unjustness of her statement.

She matched his smirk and raised it. ‘Want a shower with me?’

‘Anytime, love,’ he smiled.

* * *

His eyes opened. In that short space of time, the sun had gone behind a cloud and his sparse room felt cold. A sheen of sweat on his chest added to the chill. His euphoria was replaced by guilt, regret and disappointment.

And his hand was covered in sticky semen.

* * *

Later that evening, Draco found himself at the beach. The Rectory held no appeal for him.

He sat on the still-warm sand, polishing off a Big Mac and Coke and watching the waves as they crashed on the darkening shore.

He needed advice.

He needed to confess.

He’d rather gouge out his eyeballs with a rusty spoon than seek both from Snape. Which left the Bishop.

But first, he needed to get more information. Something was going on, he was sure.

* * *

Snape should have been pleased that his pews were chock-full of churchgoers for the first service of Sunday, but as he walked down the nave to open the Mass, he seethed with resentment.

They were only here because of _him._ Malfoy.

Ungrateful sinners. Fair-weather friends. That’s all they were.

He officiated the Mass while Malfoy conducted the sermon. He toyed with the idea of ‘changing his mind’ and taking over the sermon himself, just to see the expression on the congregation’s face, but he didn’t have an excuse. So, with his usual dour expression, he took his seat while the Golden Boy headed to the lectern.

With a smile and easy greeting, he had them eating out of his hands. They’re all sitting up straight in those uncomfortable wooden pews, thought Snape, craning their necks to get a view of him. Like he’s a movie star or something.

We shall see if the prodigal flock will stay the distance, he mused grimly.

* * *

The evening service was the same. Maybe worse. Standing room only. A lot of parents from the school were in attendance with their vapid children, who whispered and fidgeted and giggled throughout.

Snape administered the communion wafers to the churchgoers, while next to him, Draco held the chalice containing the wine.

‘The Blood of Christ,’ Draco murmured to each churchgoer, as they took a sip. Most looked shyly at him before they accepted the chalice, and while it wasn’t good form to smile during this solemn rite, they were comforted by his kind grey eyes.

An old gent with quavering hands slowly passed the chalice back to Draco and shuffled off arthritically to the pews. While Draco cleaned the rim of the chalice, he caught the scent of orchids.

His hands slowed.

He looked up and found himself staring into the large brown eyes of a curvaceous young woman with wild, curly brown hair. She, too, found herself momentarily transfixed by him, until her gaze dropped to the chalice.

‘The Blood of Christ,’ he murmured, passing the chalice to her.

‘Amen,’ she whispered, and took a sip.

She only said one word, but he was certain she was the penitent.

She was the one he fantasised about.

The one that Ginny Potter called ‘Hermione’ when she left the pub on Tuesday evening.

Again, she was dressed plainly and wore no make-up, but Draco could see the foundation of beauty through her bone structure, clear skin and lovely eyes: caramel swirled through chocolate. She held herself with poise and grace.

But… she was gone as quickly as she came.

A teenage girl he vaguely recognised from St Hufflepuff’s stepped up next, trying to suppress her giggles; not very hard by Draco’s reckoning. He gently frowned at her before offering the chalice.

* * *

Draco made himself wait until Tuesday to return to the pub. He hoped she’d be there. He needed to talk to her. To find out what sort of odd relationship there was between Hermione and Snape. Not for any other reason.

If he said it to himself often enough, maybe he’d believe it.

‘Hello, Father!’ Ginny called cheerily from behind the bar. ‘That was a lovely sermon you preached on Sunday. When do you think you’ll be conducting the entire Mass?’

He smiled. ‘When Father Snape believes I’m ready to, which could be tomorrow – or twenty years from now.’

‘Certainly hope it won’t be twenty years!’

‘Me too, but I doubt it will be tomorrow, either.’

Ginny laughed. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Stout, please.’

Ginny poured it and placed it on the bar, just as an indignant baby-like shriek sounded from out back. Her shoulders slumped.

‘Still having trouble with a babysitter?’ he asked.

She grimaced.

‘I’ll look after him while I have my drink,’ Draco offered.

‘Would you really?’ she exclaimed, before looking guilty. ‘I won’t make a habit of it, I promise.’ She dashed out back.

A few minutes later, Draco clutched his drink in one hand and James in his other arm, who, in turn, gleefully clutched Draco’s phone. The pair headed outside.

Draco stopped to say hello to a couple of parishioners making the most of the evening sun while he surreptitiously scanned the outdoor area. He was in luck – she was sitting in a shady corner with a half-drunk lager, reading a book.

Draco tried to smooth James’s hair back without success. ‘I want you on your best behaviour,’ he said mock-sternly to the tot. James enthusiastically waved Draco’s phone around.

He walked up to the woman’s small table. ‘Good evening,’ he said with a smile.

Startled, the woman looked up, and did a double-take. ‘F-Father Malfoy!’ she stammered. ‘Er, hello.’ She smiled at the baby. ‘Hello, James. You’ve done well to nab a priest for a babysitter.’

‘I have a secret weapon,’ Draco confessed on a smile. ‘He’s taken a liking to my phone.’

She smiled back. ‘So I see.’

‘May we sit?’ he asked.

Fear bloomed in her eyes before she shuttered them. ‘Of course,’ she said politely.

Draco put his drink on the wooden table and sat at right angles to her, resting James in the crook of his arm. With luck, he’d fall asleep. As for the woman, he saw her fear and didn’t blame her for it. He would have to tread softly and go slowly.

‘Draco Malfoy,’ he said, holding out his spare hand.

‘Draco?’ she queried.

He grinned. ‘I was named after a constellation,’ he said. ‘My parents went through a hippy phase.’

She smiled. ‘I can relate to having an unusual name,’ she said. ‘Hermione Granger.’ They briefly shook hands.

‘Hermione, daughter of Helen of Troy and King Menelaus,’ Draco mused.

She looked surprised. ‘You’re familiar with Greek legends?’

‘I studied Classics before I became a priest.’  

She looked at him oddly. ‘Why did you become a priest, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.’

She stiffened, and he held his breath. ‘I guess,’ she said reluctantly.

‘As for me, it’s not that exciting. I was raised in a Catholic family, drifted away in my teens and early twenties. I felt something was missing, though. I’d been in an unhealthy relationship, and when I had myself to myself again, I heard the Lord’s call. That’s pretty much it.’

Hermione nodded and took a sip of her drink. ‘What’s your question for me?’ she asked in a low voice.

Draco took a drink from his own glass while he thought.

‘All right,’ he said, hoping for the best. ‘If I offered you my help, would you accept it?’

She jumped in her chair in surprise. ‘I…’ She looked at her hands, then put them underneath her thighs.

‘I know you don’t know me,’ Draco said in a low voice. ‘I know you must have a reason not to trust me, or any other priest. But… tell me this: hand on your heart, are you happy?’

She looked straight into his clear grey eyes; and faltered. He could tell from her tight jaw that her teeth were clenched.

‘Hermione,’ he whispered, ‘…I know something is going on, and that you’re impacted by it. I’m open-minded; as far as priests usually go, I’m very open-minded. I want to help you live a happy life. Believe me.’

She sat utterly still. Draco held his breath. If she ran now, he would lose her forever.

A tear slowly crept down her cheek.

Then another.

Slowly, trying not to disturb the sleeping baby, Draco pulled out a laundered handkerchief from his pocket and placed it on the table next to her glass. Her fingers shook as she picked it up and dried her eyes.

‘Give me a time and place where we can talk in private, where you feel safe,’ he murmured.

Jerkily, she did so.

He nodded. ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening,’ he said a little guiltily.

‘You, too.’

Draco stood up carefully and carried the sleeping James back to his mum.

* * *

Ginny put James down in a Moses basket out the back of the bar. ‘How did you get to be so good with children?’ she whispered. ‘You’re like a baby whisperer.’

Draco smiled. ‘I have three older sisters with lots of children.’

‘But you don’t want any yourself?’

Draco’s face went blank. ‘It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to serve the Lord,’ he replied eventually.

Ginny felt like an absolute heel, so when Draco wondered if he could ask a couple of questions, she agreed with relief.

‘They’re about Hermione,’ he said. ‘How well do you know her?’

Alarm filled her eyes. ‘I don’t think I should talk about her. I’m sorry.’

He nodded and turned to leave.

‘I went to school with her,’ she blurted. ‘St Hufflepuff’s. Father Snape was the school chaplain. I can only give you facts, you understand.’

He nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he replied.

Ginny watched him leave, then hoped - and prayed.

* * *

A week later, Draco pulled up outside an address in his misbehaving Jeep. He checked it against the address Hermione gave him. It was an ordinary house in an ordinary street. He hopped out, adjusted his clerical collar (in case anyone was peering from behind their curtains) and knocked on the unassuming door.

Hermione answered it, and let him in.

She was in leggings and a baggy t-shirt, yet she’d brushed her hair and highlighted her eyes, cheeks and lips with the barest of make-up. A mixed signal, maybe, if he were a normal man.

She skittered like a nervous deer in her own home - touching this and arranging that - so he sat himself down on her settee and held his hand out to her. ‘Please, sit,’ he murmured.

She did, with caution.

‘I understand that what you may have to tell me is hard for you to say,’ he said gently. ‘The first steps are always rocky.’ He caught her fearful gaze with his silver eyes. ‘I’m not here to judge. I promise.’

She visibly shuddered. ‘I – I have to close my eyes,’ she whispered. ‘I won't be able to bear the look on your face...’

‘I can turn away, as in confession’ –

‘No.’ Her voice was hard. ‘Never like that. Ever.’

He swallowed, nodded, and waited for her to begin.

* * *

**Trigger: rape scene**

‘He caught me making out with my boyfriend, in the church basement.’

Seventeen-year-old Hermione and her boyfriend Ron were leaders in the church’s youth group. The session had ended for the day, and Ron had persuaded her to stay behind and fool around a bit. She was nervous – what if someone should see?

Ron laughed, taking her hand and rubbing it against his perma-erection.

‘Everyone’s gone, you silly girl,’ he chided gently. ‘Come on, love, I just want you to suck it. Everyone does it.’

With misgivings, she nonetheless sank to her knees while he rapidly undid his pants and freed his ginger erection. It bobbed in front of her nose, and she stared at it, cross-eyed.

‘C’mon, girl,’ Ron gritted, holding it at the base.

Shakily, she wrapped her hand around it, and, closing her eyes, poked out her tongue and touched it.

‘Oh, yes – oh, Jesus!’

Suddenly, Ron’s penis was gone and Hermione was left staring at the manky carpet.

Father Snape took Ron by the ear and steered him, none-too-gently, to the basement door, shouting promises of certain doom and disease to his nether bits if he ever tried to have sexual relations in a hallowed sanctuary ever again.

Somewhat embarrassed but relieved, Hermione said ‘Thank you, Fath’ –

But he squatted down in front of her, eyes burning with rage. ‘And as for you, you little slut,’ he spat, ‘you need to be taught a lesson.’

Her eyes widened in fear. ‘Wha?’ –

She tried to back away but Snape caught her hair in a death grip.

‘Stay where you are, whore!’ he thundered, and to her horror, he undid his trousers.

‘But I never – Father, I swear, I’m not a wh – uumph!’ Her eyes bulged as Snape pinched her nose tight. When she gasped for air, he shoved his erection in her mouth.

‘Let me in, slut, come on,’ he gritted, using both hands in her hair to impale her on his cock.

She gurgled and choked and tried to break free. He slapped her face hard and told her to shut up. He ignored her hands, desperately scrabbling for freedom and gave himself to the agonising bliss of her mouth and throat. He fucked her and fucked her until, with an almighty groan, he ejaculated.

She convulsed and threw up, spewing his jism onto the carpet. He watched her distastefully, tucking himself in. When she finally looked up at him, tears streaming down her face, he curled his lip and spat ‘Clean it up.’

Bewildered, she looked around.

‘Use your tongue, you stupid girl! Otherwise your peers may be interested to know that you give head like a pro. Just like you were going to give it to young Mr Weasley.’

Broken, she lowered her mouth to the dirty carpet. 

* * *

Four days later, she was summoned to the chaplain’s office at St Hufflepuff’s.

She dragged her feet, and Snape was seething by the time she turned up.

‘You dare keep me waiting, girl?’ he snarled, slamming the door shut and locking it.

She stood in the room, every muscle locked against him.

‘You committed a grievous sin the other day,’ he began.

She glared at him. ‘Your sin was all the more grievous because it was also a crime,’ she spat.

He paled with rage. ‘How dare you talk back to your priest!’ he thundered. His arm lashed out but he didn’t slap her, as she expected. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to his tidy desk, throwing her across it. She tried to get away but again he held her hair in a vice.

‘Insolent slut!’ he spat. ‘You shall be punished for your wickedness!’

With his free hand he flipped up her pleated uniform skirt and pulled her panties over her hips.

She began to scream, until she found her ripped panties stuffed into her mouth.

‘Normally I’d ask you to count the strokes,’ he muttered, as she heard the ominous sound of a zip being undone, ‘but in this case, silence is a virtue.’

With that, he speared his huge, hard cock into her virgin body.

The pain...

Dear God, it was unbearable.

It took hold of the core of her body and spread through her limbs, her lungs and her head. She even blacked out; or maybe went to another place. When she realised where she was and what was going on, Father Snape was sawing in and out of her, grunting, begging God for forgiveness and blaming it on the wanton slut with her legs spread before him.

At last, with one final grunt, he spent himself. Hermione’s skin crawled with the knowledge that she’d never be clean again.

When he got his breath back, Snape pulled his limp dick free of her. It was slimy with his come and her blood.

‘Huh,’ he murmured. ‘You were a virgin. That’ll explain why you were so useless.’

Hermione slumped to the floor.

He kicked her, and she yelped. ‘You’re making a mess,’ he sneered. ‘Go and clean yourself up. You’re a disgrace.’

‘Oh, and Ms Granger,’ Snape cooed, now dressed and respectable as she stood, shaking, by the door, ‘you’d better be a lot more enjoyable next time.’

**End of rape scene**

* * *

Hermione’s voice trailed off into the quiet, clear night. She took a breath, and her eyes fluttered open.

Draco’s silver eyes were hard. His jaw was clenched. His fists were clenched. Even his hair looked clenched. Then he blinked; and slumped, his face filled with desolation. Before he even realised what he was doing, he’d moved across the settee and gently enveloped her in his arms; a type of gentle she’d never known from a man.

And him a priest.

She tried not to cry; but large, fat, warm tears welled up from a hidden place and spilled onto his shoulders.

He held her and recited the Act of Contrition in his head. Again and again.

It was either that or return to the Rectory and kill that fucking bastard.

* * *

‘Why haven’t you told the Police? Or anyone?’

It wasn’t an accusation; Hermione knew. During what felt like hours of his low-voiced questions and her stilted answers, she slumped further into the settee, closer to the to the dent in the cushions made by the considerably taller priest. His voice was mesmeric, never shrill or accusing, and before she knew it she was listing against his side. He would lean back a little; she would move with him. A little more. A little more.

Now her head lay on his black-clothed chest, her body resting over his. His arms lay around her, one hand winding through her hair. She wondered if this was how couples held each other after they made love.

If it was, then how funny that he, a priest, knew.

‘It was my word against his,’ she whispered. ‘A respected priest versus a student with a reputation for being a lippy know-it-all. With Ron to confirm that I was about to fellate him, even if I hadn’t begun. Or had been that into it in the first place. Snape trapped me. A few well-placed, bitter words from him and suddenly, all jobs were closed to me – except one.’

‘I believe you,’ he whispered into her hair.

She jolted; and her thigh brushed against his groin. He was semi-hard.

‘Ignore it,’ Draco murmured. 'Just friction.'

‘You’re a good man,’ she whispered sadly, watching his face.

His lips quirked. ‘And you’re a good woman,’ he murmured, watching his hand rise and stroke her cheek – before dropping back. He closed his eyes, as if in pain.

‘Father Mal – Draco?’ She shifted closer, concerned. ‘Are you all right?’

He grimaced, then slowly opened his eyes. What she found there took away her breath.

‘Everything’s wrong,’ he said lightly, but with an underlying heaviness that made her shudder. ‘Everything I know is wrong.’

She reached out and touched his lips with her finger. ‘Please don’t say that,’ she begged. ‘Don’t come apart on me. I need you to be strong.’

His lips parted beneath her touch. His breath was warm.

‘I want you, Hermione,’ he murmured. ‘You must realise that. But it’s the worst thing I could ever possibly do to you.’

They met each other’s stare. The pit of her stomach tingled.

‘It’s not evil, you know,’ she stuttered. ‘To want to be intimate with someone.’ Then her bravery ran out. ‘If that’s what you wanted.’

His eyes... so dark.

‘If it’s so wrong,’ she continued, ‘why are you still on my settee, with me on you, reacting to ‘friction’?’

His flint eyes glinted. ‘You tell me.’

She blushed and looked away. He made her whole body tingle, not just her tummy. She couldn’t trust her head to make the best decisions. She carefully climbed off him and stood up. Then headed to the front door.

It was for the best.

‘Hermione.’

She turned around. Draco was standing, but hadn’t moved from the settee.

‘Do you want me to go?’

She half-laughed. ‘Of course I don’t!’ Her voice cracked. ‘I want you. I feel safe with you. But there’s still a tiny sliver of decency remaining in my heart that says I should let you go before you do something you’ll seriously regret.’

Slowly, he walked to her. For the first time, Hermione felt desired; not afraid. Or numb. Or sick to her stomach.

They were close enough to breathe each other’s air.

‘That’s a discussion I’ll have with someone else,’ he said.

Then he cupped her head in his hands and brought her lips to his.


	3. Chapter 3

In her bedroom.

She never took clients here.

He was the first stranger to cross its threshold.

She was nervous, and giddy with need. In his eyes, she saw the same desire, but he was battling a need to hold back. She shook her head, frustrated, freeing herself of her t-shirt before rapidly undoing his belt. She knew every trick there was to make a man speed up.

He stopped her hand, then threaded his fingers through hers. ‘I’m not here to fuck you,’ he said against her mouth. ‘I want to make love to you.’

She stilled, her doe eyes open wide.

‘Let me,’ he murmured over her lips.

Dazed, all she could do was nod.

* * *

He removed her clothing almost perfunctorily and had her climb onto the bed. His eyes blazed as she crawled to the head of the bed; her curved hips, breasts and arse moved sinuously. Once there, she turned and watched him strip his priest’s facade away; saw the man emerge.

His body was beautiful. He was long-limbed and toned, taut around his stomach and groin. Dark blonde hair dusted his limbs and traced a path from his navel and headed south. His erection jutted out, glistening at the head. Mesmerised, she moved towards it.

‘Hermione.’

She heard the warning in his tone.

Wet lips parted, she raised her face up to his.

His breath left his body in a shuddering exhale.

She tasted him first. She ran her tongue over every inch that jutted out to meet her mouth. When he hissed, her cunt pulsed.

Still kneeling with her hands on the bed, she opened her mouth and sank down on him, drawing back and forth and sucking each and every inch. He felt divine – soft flesh over hard tissue, so warm and clean. Utter luxury. Like fine wine, or decadent dark chocolate.

Without warning, she opened her throat and soared down his length, lips connecting with his body.

His guttural moan speared through her body to her clitoris and she moaned in response, sending shockwaves surging through his shaft, into his balls and throughout his body in turn.

She began the age-old rhythm of sucking back and surging down; over and over, trance-like –

‘Hermione. Stop.’

It sounded like his words had fought their way through gravel.

Disoriented, she drew back, saliva glistening on his flesh and her lips.

His jaw was clenched, but his eyes were kind. ‘I meant it,’ he said, pushing her gently onto her back and spreading her legs. ‘Let me lead.’

Bewildered, she nodded, then she jolted as his finger exposed her clitoris. Staring at the ceiling, she felt his warm breath on her body - then she gasped as his tongue curled around her centre and licked it – gently, then with growing passion.

Her thighs trembled; awed, she watched them – she couldn’t make them stop. Between them lay the dark golden head of a man, a priest, rubbing her clitoris with his thumb and working his mouth towards the opening between her legs.

He licked and sucked greedily on the lips surrounding her core, and even though it felt so damn good she was embarrassed and tried to close her legs.

He stopped them with his hands and looked into her eyes. His own reflected his obvious arousal. ‘Has no-one done this to you?’ he asked.

She turned her face away.

He bowed his head, then slowly kissed the inside of each thigh solemnly; like a prayer. Then he looked at her from underneath his mussed-up fringe of hair, and growled ‘Tonight, you’re mine.’

On that, he pulled her soaking core to his mouth and speared his tongue deep inside her.

* * *

He wouldn’t let go.

He wouldn’t let up.

With his tongue, lips, mouth and fingers, Draco made Hermione come hard, over and over until her body shook and her voice cracked from her cries and her essence, from deep inside of her, filled his mouth and her exotic scent was seared in his mind like a brand.

He released her and pulled back, wiping his face clean with the back of his arm, dragging in restorative breaths; as did she.

If he waited any longer to enter her, he’d explode; he was sure.

He’d never felt harder, more aroused, in his life.

It had been years since he’d had sex. Now he was with a woman who fucked men for money. But going by her reaction to the cunnilingus he’d performed on her, their experiences might be more evenly-matched than he assumed.

He crawled onto the bed, over this beautiful, supine woman. The scent of orchids was stronger here. He dipped his mouth to her breasts, paying homage. Her skin shimmered from perspiration; as his soon would. 

He sculpted the base of a full, soft breast with his tongue, flicking the hardened, puckered nipple with his thumb, before repeating the other side. Her back arched and she clutched his hair in silent demand.

Finally, he knelt at the junction of her parted legs, his erection lying heavily on her thigh. Her eyes widened, and she leaned over to her bedside table and scrabbled around in the drawer.

She withdrew her closed hand and unfurled it before him.

On her palm lay a wrapped condom.

His eyes widened at the little sealed square; then they flicked to hers.

She met his stare - a little scared, a little defiant.

He looked at it again. Her body was her livelihood. Pregnancy and infections could have catastrophic outcomes. But as a priest, he could not condone any device that prevented the potential creation of life.

Let alone use one himself...

Still. He let the demons win.

‘I’m out of practice,’ he murmured.

Wordlessly, she sat up and gently touched his lips with hers. She opened the package and deftly sheathed his erection. He gritted his teeth against the business-like brush of her fingers against his skin.

Before she lay back down, he kissed her again; passionately, almost harshly. Following her down to the bed, he leaned over her, lining up his cock against the soaking entrance to her body.

There was no more need for words.

He surged inside her.

* * *

God, it had been so long.

As Hermione’s body welcomed him, Draco knew that the rapturous, slick, tight heat he found inside her was nothing like what he’d experienced before. He was glad for the desensitisation created by the condom; without it he probably would have orgasmed already.

He tempered his strokes in and out of her core, watching expressions chase over the delicate bones of her lovely face. Wonder. Shock. Need. Raw desire. Smoothly, he rolled onto his back and brought her onto his hips; time to let her play.

She knelt over him, setting most of his cock free except for the head, still snug inside her. She contracted her muscles and he swore, his eyes rolling back with blissful pleasure. Then she slid down his length, engulfing his cock to its base. Closing her eyes, she leaned over his body at a 45-degree angle and undulated her hips – slowly at first, then building in speed. Her breath grew ragged, and she moaned in desire. Unashamedly, she rubbed her clitoris against his body while taking his cock in, over and again.

Draco watched her, entranced by her serpentine moves. As they grew jagged, he clamped his hands to her hips and thrust up repeatedly inside her. Hermione wailed, calling out his name.

‘Come for me,’ Draco whispered, his eyes glinting silver.

Almost delirious, she shook her head. ‘I-I don’t – oh God, please!’

Draco kept up the brutal pace, piercing her beautiful body. ‘You do.’

Her eyes widened.

Keeping one firm hand on her hip, he cupped one perfect buttock with his other hand – then plunged his finger into her tight, gorgeous arse.

She orgasmed violently on a broken scream, her cunt greedily gripping his cock as if it wanted to drag even more of his beautiful flesh inside her. He gasped in harsh euphoria; the ecstasy she drew out nearly overcame him; but he held on, slowing his thrusts, watching Hermione fling her head back and claw for the air her body denied her when her brain shut down and her body revelled in ecstatic jubilation.

She slowed, then blinked, looking around her.

‘Have you lost something?’ Draco asked, amused.

She jumped; then smiled shyly. ‘I’ve never come that way’ – then she stopped, picking at a pulled threat on the duvet.

He sat up, staying sheathed inside her. To quell his anger about the bitter blow life – no, Snape - had dealt her, he tasted her lips with gentle slowness.

‘Did you like it?’

Her lips quirked. ‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

* * *

Draco tried hard not to be harsh. He tried not to be selfish. But Hermione craved the muscular power he put behind each thrust into her cunt, each desperate grip of his fingers on her slick flesh. Sweat gathered at his temples, trickled down his spine and darkened his hair as she gripped his body, begging him to make her _feel._

He made love to her throughout the night. Each of her orgasms was poetry in motion, and each ripple of her core around his steel-hard cock sent his body spiralling into raw, base, hard desire.

Eventually, he had to let go. With a gasp of exultation, he slammed his body against hers, coming over and over into the prophylactic sleeve. When his breath left him, he lowered himself shakily onto her body, propping himself on his arms. He rested his head on her breasts, searching, and finding, some serenity.

Hermione gathered his hair into her hands, looking up at the ceiling, seeing nothing. Committing everything to memory.

* * *

He had to go; they both knew that. But he couldn’t bear to leave her. Not just yet.

They talked in low voices, her head resting next to his heart. About things that happened in the past – before he became a priest; before she became a prostitute.

‘If you could do anything,’ Draco murmured into her hair, ‘what would you do?’

She blinked sleepily. ‘I’d go to university,’ she whispered. ‘Study something. Anything.’

He knew that she felt that Snape had trapped her into staying in this town.

But hopefully not for much longer.

He took up her invitation of a shower but refused to let himself linger in the bathroom, where her scent was so alluring he felt himself harden again.

He watched in the mirror as the priest slowly replaced the body of a lover. Fastening his clerical collar back in place, he realised, sadly, that he was staring at a stranger.

By the front door, Hermione waited in a faded Snoopy sleep shirt. She looked at him warily, but he drew her into his arms and held her tight.

‘Will you write the statement?’ he whispered.

Her breath left her. ‘Yes,’ she mumbled.

He hugged her extra tight. ‘I’ll call you,’ he promised. ‘All this will end. You have my word.’

She nodded, unable to trust her voice.

* * *

Draco’s long night came continued into the morning.

He was sitting quietly at the breakfast table when Snape strolled in. He raised an eyebrow at his acolyte, not normally one to rise before him, but said nothing until he put a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster.

‘Didn’t hear you come in,’ he remarked lazily.

‘I was up late with a parishioner,’ Draco said dully.

‘Oh? Who was it that required your doting attendance?’

‘Mrs Howell,’ Draco lied. She was an old woman in the last throes of dementia. No doubt Snape would phone the rest home to check. Draco didn’t care.

He waited until Snape chomped through a half a slice of toast before he said ‘About Hermione Granger.’

Snape paused, jammy bread halfway to his thin lips. ‘What of her?’

‘She’s a prostitute.’

A raised black eyebrow from across the table.

‘She told me, in lurid detail, about the sex acts she performs,’ Draco continued. ‘In the confessional booth.’

Snape wheezed with laughter. ‘She performs sex acts in the confessional booth?’

Draco narrowed his eyes. ‘She told me that you required her to be specific during her confessions.’

Snape carefully put the toast down on his plate. ‘I should have known,’ he intoned. ‘She’s trying to wrap her talons around your manhood, too.’

Draco put his coffee carefully down. ‘Are you saying she’s a liar?’

Snape leaned back in his chair. ‘She’s a whore,’ he said dismissively. ‘She takes men’s hard-earned money, takes them away from their wives and corrupts them, debases them.  Even I have been powerless to resist her wiles.’ He threw Draco a contemptuous look. ‘Small wonder it’s taken her this long to infect you.’

‘You admit that you’ve had sex with her?’

Snape laughed humourlessly. ‘She had sex with me.’

‘Splitting hairs, isn’t it?’

'I'm sure God would understand.'

Draco clenched his teeth. 'She told me that you ruined any chance she had of a career and blackmailed her into staying in this town, fucking men for money. Including you.'

Suddenly, Snape had had enough. Jerkily, he stood up, his chair screeching across the floor. ‘I have atoned for my sins,’ he snarled. ‘She is a blight on this parish and a lying, piece-of-shit whore. If you think you can succeed in making her renounce her wicked ways, my boy, then go right ahead and try. But don't you even think about dragging me through her slimy muck.’

‘What do you mean?’ Draco asked, but the tail of Snape’s cassock was already swirling around the kitchen door.

He looked at his empty plate. Then he drew his phone out from under the table, where he had placed it on his lap. He pressed the button to stop the voice recorder.

* * *

It was a week or so later. Bishop Shacklebolt looked carefully at the young priest sitting opposite him in his parlour. The optimistic, dynamic man he saw off to St Dumbledore's a few weeks ago was gone. This one was tense, tired and grieving. A hard copy of Hermione Granger’s statement, Draco’s report and his recording sat on the coffee table between them – a no man’s land.

‘You knew, didn’t you.’ Draco spoke into his cold cup of tea.

Shacklebolt sighed sadly. ‘I had suspicions. But no proof.’

‘What happens now?’

Well, Father Snape has a right to due process.’ Shacklebolt finished his tea and put the cup down. ‘But it’s likely that he will be expelled from the Church. And depending on Ms Granger’s wishes, the Police should be notified about the rape allegations.’

Draco rubbed his forehead tiredly.

‘Perhaps you could counsel her’ –

Draco shook his head. ‘I’m in no position to counsel her, your Excellency.’ His voice was hollow.

‘Oh?’ the Bishop asked gently.

Draco sighed, dropped his head in his hands, then sat back up again. ‘Your Excellency, I need to confess.’

‘Of course.’ Shackleton turned to the side, averting his gaze from Draco’s wretched face. ‘In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.’

‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,’ Draco murmured. ‘It has been eight days since my last confession.’

‘What are your sins?’ Shacklebolt asked, although he had an idea what was coming.

‘I have committed the sin of fornication.’

‘This is a grave and mortal sin, my son.’

‘Yes, Father.’

Did you commit this sin of your own free will?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Do you wholeheartedly repent your sin?’

The loaded silence stretched out. Until eventually, Draco said in a voice so quiet Shacklebolt barely heard him: ‘Yes.’

Shacklebolt kept his quiet sigh to himself. A good priest, lost so soon.

* * *

 

For the next few days and weeks, Draco felt like he was underwater, always reaching for the surface, but never managing to break free.

Before Draco left the Bishop’s residence, he listened to Shacklebolt talk on the phone to Hermione. Still, when he pulled up at the empty Rectory, he wasn’t pleased to find a local newspaper reporter and photographer camping on the front doorstep, demanding a comment from Father Malfoy about Father Snape’s recent arrest.

He sent them away, knowing it would only get worse.

When the doorbell rang a little later, he marched down the hallway and yanked the door open – to find Ginny and James Potter standing there, both staring at him with wide brown eyes.

Over tea in the kitchen, rocking James on his knee, he forced the story out over fits and starts, figuring she’d hear about it anyway – preferably from Hermione, but probably from the media. Ginny’s eyes brimmed, and she scooted around the table. She didn’t pick up a grizzly James, as he expected; she put her arms around him and held him tight.

‘Thank you for helping her,’ she whispered. ‘I’d hoped that you would.’

* * *

Draco officiated as parish priest of St Dumbledore’s until Bishop Shacklebolt organised a replacement; preferably a mature priest with years under his belt who’d seen it all.

He bore the irate and sometimes hysterical questions from worried parents of past and present students at St Hufflepuff’s; the monotonous, repetitive questions from the Department of Education, and more of the same from the Police and the Diocese calmly enough. He did his best to minister to the members of the parish who actually needed his spiritual guidance, even though he felt like a fraud.  

He’d lost his faith.

No; that wasn’t it.

He lost his heart.

To a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.

* * *

After Ginny and James left the Rectory, he climbed into his Jeep and headed to Hermione’s house. Not caring how it looked.

When she finally opened the door to his insistent knocking, he was appalled. Before this, she was slim, big-eyed and carried a trapped energy around in her. Now she was pallid and visibly shook as she let him and closed the door. And stayed there.

He stepped forward, wanting to hold her, but she held up a trembling arm. ‘Don’t,’ she croaked.

‘Hermione’ –

‘I can’t deal with you right now.’

Draco paled.

‘I- I knew there would be fallout, of course. But I didn’t expect it to happen so fast. I’ve had to unplug the phone. The reporters will probably be around any minute. And it’s going to get very, very ugly. You must know that.’

‘I want to help you,’ Draco insisted. ‘I – that night wasn’t a casual fuck to me. I care about you. More than that.’

She closed her eyes against his heartfelt words. ‘I can’t be with you. I’ll drag you down with me, and you’re still too good to be treated that way.’

‘I don’t care!’ he said fiercely.

She opened her eyes, now filled with tears. ‘But I do,’ she whispered. Her eyes skittered to a dark corner, where Draco made out a suitcase.

A hand clenched around his heart. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Bishop Shacklebolt’s arranged somewhere for me to stay while all this goes on.’ She indicated the door with her head.

Draco nodded, and exhaled. ‘How do you feel about me?’ he asked, silver eyes steady when everything else wasn't.

She looked down at the floor, at her suitcase, at a nondescript picture on the wall, then finally, at him. She swallowed. ‘You’re too good for me,’ she whispered.

Draco shook his head, stepped forward and gently brushed a tear from her cheekbone.

‘When all this is over,’ he said quietly, ‘we’ll talk.’

She nodded.

He let his lips rest on that same cheekbone, then opened the door.

* * *

**Four years later**

Outside the university’s auditorium, two figures clothed in black robes and mortarboards embraced happily. Classics Professor Malfoy acknowledged some of the graduates who greeted him as they whizzed past with a smile before murmuring ‘I am so proud of you’ to his wife.

Mrs Hermione Malfoy held her Bachelor’s degree - in which she majored in Public Policy – in one hand and clutched her mortarboard when an errant gust of wind threatened to make off with it. ‘Goodness!’ she laughed breathlessly. ‘I can’t believe it’s finally over!’

‘And not a moment before time,’ Draco gently admonished, running a protective hand over Hermione’s considerable baby bump.

‘Pft.’ His wife waved an airy hand. ‘She was as good as gold during the ceremony. Barely kicked at all.’

Draco smirked. ‘Good boy,’ he whispered to her tummy.

‘Stop confusing her!’

He straightened up and looked into Hermione’s laughing eyes. She was almost unrecognisable from four years ago.

The publicity was brutal – nobody loved a good sex scandal better than the media, fuelled by a public with a rabid thirst for lurid details. Their night together stayed a secret, but when they had to appear in Court as witnesses for Snape’s rape trial, the baying public wouldn’t leave them alone.

Draco had left the priesthood by then and returned to university to work on his Classics doctoral thesis. The brutal work schedule he adhered to kept his mind focused during the day.

Not so during the night.

Hermione knew how he felt about her. As much as he wanted to hunt her down, throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to his bed, he knew he had to wait for her to decide what she wanted to do.

* * *

It was a winter’s day, and he’d just submitted his thesis to the University’s examination board. He slouched on a park bench alongside a river that wended its way through the university’s picturesque grounds, beanie clamped on his head, hands shoved into his coat pockets.

A shadow fell over the bench, but that wasn’t what made him slowly sit up.

It was the faint smell of orchids.

‘One of your students said I’d probably find you here.’

He swallowed; stood up, and turned around.

She was wrapped up against the cold, with a scarf and matching beanie. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were warm; maybe a little nervous. Despite the bundles of clothing, he could tell that she’d gained the weight that the toll of the scandal had stolen from her. He, in turn, looked like a typical student – scruffy clothes, overgrown hair, stubble, a pallor to his skin that only months in a library can create.

Her lips parted. ‘You said you wanted to talk.’

He cleared his throat, wondering if this was a dream. ‘Uh... of course. Yes.’

She walked around the bench and stood in front of him. She raised herself up on her tip-toes, linked her arms around his neck and drew him close. ‘Is it okay if we don’t talk?’ she murmured before sealing his lips with her own.

Draco wrapped his arms around her until there was no air between them.

Of course it was okay.

 

The End


End file.
